The Mischievous Nerd's Guide to World Domination
Author: Stephen Oberauer

Chapter 30
The London bombing

On the 7th of July I remember hearing about suicide bombings in London. I remember thinking about Kirsty, my brother, and all the other people I knew who lived in England. I sent them an email to check if all was well. They all replied that day, except for Kirsty, who replied three days later. She told me that Patrick had been killed in the bombing and that she could not understand why. He was not even supposed to be on the Circle Line. I wrote back and asked if she would like a plane ticket back to Cape Town. I explained that I had become very wealthy and that it would not be a problem. It would be best for her to be back with her family at a time like this.

I had mixed feelings. I was angry because of the ridiculous and pointless waste of human life, but at the same time I was glad that Kirsty was single. I felt a bit guilty about it, as you can probably imagine.

Once again Andrew wrote a funny story to cheer people up at a time of misery:


July, 2005 Report on suicide bombings in London

We all know about the recent suicide bombings in London, which left about 50 people dead, thousands injured and of course 1.3 billion people miserable due to television shows which had been cancelled. In a recent report we also learned that a lady was shot dead after having a shower and wearing a towel around her head to keep her hair dry. Henry, the policeman who shot her, allegedly thought that she was an Arab and looked suspicious. He was on the lookout for suspicious people through a pair of binoculars that he was using from the window in the house across the road.

These tragic events lead us to ask questions like, “Why?” To answer these questions we interviewed Abdullah, an ex-suicide bomber from Iraq:

The first question we asked was, “Tell us, Abdullah, what was it like to be a suicide bomber?”

“I’m sorry, can you repeat the question, I’m a little bit deaf,” he replied.

We found it quite hard to communicate with him, so we wrote down some questions which he could read with his remaining eye:

“Tell us, Abdullah, what was it like to be a suicide bomber?” we wrote.

“Well it has its good side and its not so good side. Sometimes you get travel allowances and spending money, but try to get medical aid or life insurance and no-one’s willing to help. There is a great death benefit though; my leader promised me that I will get seven hot virgins when I complete my mission.”

“And what’s it like to do a mission?”

“Well, some people think it’s easy, but 30 kilograms of explosives on your back weighs a ton. Then you get on the bus that you’re supposed to blow up and you see all the little children and the mommies and you feel a bit guilty, so you have to keep reminding yourself, ‘Seven hot virgins, seven hot virgins, seven boiling hot virgins!’”

“Seeing that you’re still alive, what went wrong?”

“I was in the underground and it was very cramped, so I didn’t notice someone stealing sticks of dynamite from my backpack and swapping them for beer bottles. I thought the jingling sound was a bit strange when I walked out at the station, but didn’t notice what had happened until it was too late. There was still one stick of dynamite left which blew off the left half of my body.”

“Is that why you retired from suicide bombing?”

“Well, it was at that point that I started thinking about whether the seven hot virgins would still want me, looking like this, and what if they’re fat, ugly virgins? And if they aren’t, then why would they settle for sharing a dead man amongst themselves? What if they’re old virgins? What if they want to remain virgins?”

George Bush, the president of the United States of America, was in London recently, so we decided to pay him a visit and ask him a question or two:

“President Bush, what are you going to do about these bombings?”

“We’re going to invade Iraq and take their oil!”

“Do you know that there is also a crisis in Zimbabwe, where the president is pulling down peoples’ houses?”

“Of course I know about Zambia.”

“Are you going to do anything about it?”

“Of course we won’t; they don’t have oil.”

“Why is oil so important to your country?”

“We use it to fry chips and make goodie burgers.”

“Don’t you mean ‘for your vehicles’?”

“Don’t be silly, our cars run on gas, not oil, you stupid dummy. It’s all about food. Without food we can’t survive, and if we can’t survive then we can’t go to work and earn a living. My next plan is to attack Italy and take the leaning tower of pizza.”

We know that news is usually bad news, and so I’d like to finish this article on a positive note with some useful advice from our editor: If you want to have fun while flying in an American plane, wear your turban, act suspicious and carry a loud, ticking alarm clock under your garment.



On Thursday, the 14th of July, 2005, Kirsty’s plane arrived in Cape Town. Her parents and brother were at the airport, standing in the arrivals hall and waiting eagerly for her to walk through the doors. I felt weird about the situation, so I sat down on a bench on the other side of the hall and watched. A set of double doors opened letting out a stream of eager travellers, pushing their heavy trolleys, happy that their luggage had arrived in one piece. Five minutes passed and the stream of people was still flowing. Each person seemed to have the same experience. They’d walk their trolley through the doors, look around for their relatives, spot them, smile, increase their pace, get their hug, and leave. The number of people waiting was diminishing. Ten minutes had passed and the stream of people had diminished to a trickle. I waited impatiently. An elderly man in a grey suit pushed his trolley through the doorway, followed by young couple. Seconds later a beautiful, tall girl with long, dark hair and red lips had arrived. It was her. Instinctively, I stood up. I sat back down on the bench and watched. She spotted her family instantly and pushed her trolley towards them. Kirsty looked sad but gave each family member a smile as she hugged them. I noticed her looking around and asking her mom something. Her mom pointed in my direction. I stood up again. She looked at me and smiled. It was a beautiful smile. If I’d had a tail, it would have been wagging. ‘Come here,’ she signalled. I got up and rushed over to her and received a big hug. ‘Thank you,’ she told me, ‘I really appreciate the plane ticket. I love you!’ It was a casual ‘I love you’, not the kind that one says when one is in love, but the kind that might slip out when someone does something really nice for you. Nevertheless, hearing it from her was like eating ice cream and chocolate sauce after starving in the desert.

We headed towards the parking lot and as Kirsty and her family headed towards their car, I headed towards mine. ‘Nathan, wait!’ Kirsty called out, as she suddenly noticed that I was not going in the same direction, ‘When am I going to see you again?’

‘I’m free any time,’ I said.

‘How about tomorrow?’ she asked, ‘Would you like to do something tomorrow?’

‘Sure,’ I replied, ‘What time shall I pick you up?’

‘How’s 10am?’ she asked.

‘Perfect,’ I replied.

‘Anywhere in particular that you’d like to go?’

‘I’ll surprise you,’ I told her, suspiciously.

 

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